


Inside My Velvet Rope

by SilverSpoon6609



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, F/M, Femdom, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSpoon6609/pseuds/SilverSpoon6609
Summary: Daryl tries not to think, and it isn't hard, at least not when they are together like this. But sometimes, sometimes when he watches her twist the soft, black rope into blissful knots and slowly tighten it across his body he can't help but wonder why the hell it took him so long to get here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a series of drabble-ish chapters. Enjoy!

"Have you ever been to one of these?"

Her voice is bright, different from the smoke and booze soaked regulars he's used to hearing here. 

"Huh?"

"Speed dating."

"The hell's that?" He's glancing over at her, still trying to figure out why she's talking to him. She's beautiful and young, he turns his head away to survey the rest of the bar. It's packed. It's never packed. He briefly remembers the flier in the men's room, obscured by over teased bleached out hair as he tried to ignore what he was doing.

“You’ve never heard of speed dating before?”

“Nah, all dating’s pretty quick though, ain’t it?”

She scoffs and sips at her drink, “I guess, if you want it to be.” A few seconds go by before she speaks again. "You go table to table and talk to people, like twenty questions style? Probably be shootin' fish in a barrel for you though."

He blushes, can't help it. "I ain't here for that. Just this." He lifts up his half empty beer to prove a point.

She smiles, and a voice rings out beckoning the women to their respective tables, "Well, looks like I'm off to meet my prince, wish me luck?"

"You need it, all look like frogs to me. G'luck." He turns to the bartender, motions for another beer, and ignores her walking away. 

 

She’s there again the next week. It’s quieter and he’s surprised to find her sitting alone at the bar.

“All frogs then?” He just can’t help it.

“So it would seem.” She looks him over, he can see the instant she makes a decision, “I’m Beth.”

He nods his head at the bartender who doesn’t blink before popping the cap off a Bud and sliding it to him. “Daryl Dixon.”

 

She’s there nearly every Friday and the few days that she isn’t, he looks for her. 

They talk, actual conversations. She talks about her photography and her sister who insists she gets a steady boyfriend, a better car, a real job. He listens, drops a line here and there about the junkyard. About how the place was practically a junkyard before he and his brother made it official.

They eat dinner together. 

They take turns picking songs on the outdated jukebox.

She glares at him from her stool when he goes out for a cigarette.

He laughs at her when she finally caves and tries a shot of whiskey.

It's been raining since Saturday and the whole weekend has been a washout. He's stuck in the trailer behind the office that he's called home for the past few years and all that's left to do after three days is mess around with the phone Rick made him get. Carl taught him how to download apps, how to use Instagram. He will never admit that he actually likes it.

Shane started talking about the girls he meets online. He struts around the office, bombarding Daryl with stories about how much tail he gets every time he brings a car in for impound or some twisted mess for scrap.

He downloaded the app on Monday and spent the day flipping past profiles.

Tuesday night one finally catches him.

It's a coy picture, wavy hair and the soft curve of an ass. It's back lit so he can't really see what she looks like but she seems familiar. He looks at another picture and he knows he's seen it before. It's her bracelets against the line of her jaw. Some thin colorful strings, a leather cuff, and silver bangle. 

He scrolls down and reads.

Beth, 23.

Need someone who won't mind getting tied up in a project. SSC.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, you ever gonna show me them pictures you’re always telling me about?”

She sips at her drink, “I don’t know.”

“Why?” Daryl’s voice is low, almost hurt.

“I don’t want you to change your mind about me.”

“S’that supposed to mean? You take some fucked up pictures?” 

Beth sips the drink again, “Maybe.”

“Some dark shit? Like…Goya. Devil eatin’ his kid?” Daryl finishes his beer and spins the empty on the bar top.

“I swear, Daryl. You could knock me off this stool with a feather after some of the stuff you say.”

He gives her an embarrassed half smile. This isn’t like any kind of flirting he’s ever seen Merle do. It’s actual conversations, he lets her see these glimpses of himself that he barely knows exist. Beth’s hand brushes against his every so often, she smiles at him. He orders her the IPA she likes and waits for her to look at the menu. It’s only got five items. They never change, but she takes twenty minutes to decide every damn week. He just waits, watches her biting on her lip, and orders a burger every time.

“I wanna see ‘em.” He lets his voice drop to a soft, serious tone.

She looks at him again, holds eye contact. “Alright.” She takes out a business card from her clutch. It’s simple, just her name and the phrase Artistic Portraits above a website and phone number. “The front is my professional work. Babies, couples… that kinda thing.” She turns away and asks the bartender for a pen, “This is my… personal work.” She writes another web address on the back and hands it him. “You do have a computer, right?”

“At work.” He runs the corner of the card under his thumbnail. 

Beth laughs, “Of course it’s at work.”

“Yeah, but I own ‘work’. I’ll make sure there ain’t no one else there.”

 

The office is cleaner and more organized than most might expect, a welcome remnant from Merle’s army days. He goes straight there after the bar, moves through the building in the dark and waits for the second hand computer to boot up. The screen throws just enough light for him to read the neat handwriting on the back of the card.

He lets the page load, it’s a blog. The header is a silhouette that Daryl immediately recognizes. He’s been memorizing it over the past few weeks. It’s her,  
arched back and glowing from the backlighting in the photograph. He scrolls down the page, committing every detail to memory. 

The first shot is a man on his knees, looking up at her. 

The same man, kneeling again, one hand on a thigh he knows is hers.

His head in her lap, he can see her fingers tangled tight in his short hair.

His back, arms taught above his head. 

His chest criss-crossed with rope.

Her hand, perfect dark fingernails pressing into his throat.

Daryl’s pants are uncomfortably tight. He notices that there are actual captions, full paragraphs describing each shot and the aftermath of it. 

He sits in the office for hours. Reads every single post, and goes home to a cold shower.

 

She is there before him on Friday, at a booth instead of the bar. It takes him a minute to pick her out. She is twisting a napkin between her fingers when she looks up. 

“Hey Daryl.”

“Hey.” He stands at the end of the table. “You got a drink?”

Beth shakes her head but doesn’t really look at him. “I didn’t know how long I’d be here.”

He huffs and goes to the bar. He has to push the memory of her outline from his head. Perfect soft angles, gentle curves pressed against a muscled body. Pressed against his muscled body. Her hand soft and sure against his rough, tense knuckles. He grabs their beers and a menu.

Daryl is barely sitting when she starts.

“Did you look?”

“Cuttin’ right to the chase, huh?”

“Daryl…”

“Why you so nervous about it?”

“Daryl, did you?”

He sips his drink, “Course I did. I told ya I wanted to.” He looks across the table at her. “They were…”

“I don’t…”

He stops, raises his eyebrows asking her to go on. 

“I don’t usually show people unless they’re… in…it. Unless I know…” 

She purposefully isn’t looking at him and it hurts. It pulls at something that he can’t even name. He starts again, "They were..." 

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“They were…”

“Really Daryl, lets just order and make fun of the news anchor.”

“They’re fuckin’ perfect, Beth.”

Her eyes snap up to his, “Which ones did you…”

“You know which ones.” He can feel the blush climb up his neck.

“Oh.” Beth holds his gaze for a beat too long and then reaches for the menu.

 

They order and as soon as the waitress moves away Beth brings it back up. 

“Do you have any questions, I guess? I mean… I know it’s not something most people…get.” She picks at the label on her bottle. “Or if you don’t want to bring it up again we don’t have to.”

“You wear leather and all that? Got a leash, big ass bullwhip?”

She turns beet red, “Daryl!”

He smirks at her and takes a long, slow pull from his beer. “Is it always something you do? If you’re with someone, it always like that?”

She nods. “It’s part of it. It’s part of me.”

“How’d you figure it?”

Beth cocks and eyebrow, “Like how did I realize?”

“Mmhmm.”

“A photo blog I followed when I was in school. I started shooting for other couples first and realized I wanted more from it. There's a connection there...it's just different, I guess. My boyfriend at the time didn’t get it, so I found people who did.”

He nods, follows her example of peeling the label. "I get that, people not gettin' it. Been like that my whole life."

She smiles, looks around the bar and says something about the returning champion on Jeopardy.

He walks her out to the car after another beer, opens her door after she hits the unlock button, and stands there as she gets in, "Are you, are you taking more pictures?"

"I have a newborn shoot at ten tomorrow."

He huffs, "That ain't, you know what I'm gettin' at girl."

"No, Daryl. I'm not taking pictures of anyone." She smiles at him and tilts her head, "I'll see you next week?"


	3. Chapter 3

He’s hunched over, head in his hands, just staring at the way his boots stand out against the white tile floor. It smells like disinfectant and he picks at the bandaid on the inside of his elbow as he wills away the nausea in his stomach. He’s probably been sitting there for over an hour but can’t force his body up and out the door.

“Daryl?”

He wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to him, let alone her, and tugs on his hair a little as he lifts his head. “Hey Beth.”

“Are you alright? What are you doing here?” She shifts her bag off her shoulder and sits in the chair next to him.

“I’m alright. Why’re you here?”

She knits her eyebrows, “I had a photoshoot, the hospital calls me when there’s a baby.” She watches him nod and look down at his boots again. “Do you wanna see? I have my work hanging up on the third floor lobby.”

“Alright.” 

He stands and follows her to the elevator, they don’t say anything as it moves up to the third floor.

 

The lobby is empty, family ushered in to see the new arrival. The walls are a soft green color and hanging on them are framed portraits of sleeping babies. He stands in front of one, the baby is cradled in two sets of hands.

“You did all these?” He walks to the next one.

She smiles, “Yeah, and a couple hundred more.”

“They all look perfect.”

“Thanks.”

He glances over his shoulder at her and nods a little before moving onto the next. He studies it a little before he speaks again.

“What happens if it ain’t...good?”

“What do you mean?” Beth moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. 

“If the baby is sick, or too small or something ain’t right?”

“I still take pictures, even if they aren’t like this, they’re still perfect.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything else as he moves around the empty room, just stops and studies each framed photograph before following her lead back to the elevator. 

Once the doors close she lets her hand brush against his.

“Why’d you decide to show me?” The words rush out of his mouth.

“The lobby?”

“No, the other…”

“I don’t… I guess I wondered…” She's caught off guard.

“You wanted to know if I was into it.”

“Well, yeah. I guess things have been going... good and I wanted to… I had to be sure you knew…”

“I never done anything like that.” He says it sharp and quick.

“Oh.”

“No one ever wanted anything like that from me.” He looks at a notice about birthing classes taped to the wall. “I ain’t perfect, like the guy on your webpage. I ain’t like that, don’t look like that.”

“That doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head a little.

“My back’s all fucked up, got a lot of scars everywhere.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He finally presses the button to bring them to the ground floor.

“What’s the bandaid for? You give blood?”

He shakes his head, “My brother, his liver’s going to shit. Thought I might be a match, I ain’t”

Beth winds her fingers between his. “I’m sorry, Daryl.” She squeezes his hand, “It’s not your fault, you know?”

He blinks hard and bites on the inside of his lip, “Mmm.” 

She doesn’t let go of his hand when the doors open.


	4. Chapter 4

When the phone rings at quarter to five on a Friday, Daryl is so tempted to let it ring out.

“MD Auto Parts, this’s Daryl.”

“Hey Daryl, it’s Beth.”

He readjusts, “Hey, how’d you get this number?”

“Phone book, this is a business call, Mr. Dixon." Her voice is smiling at him, "Someone smashed my door in on my car and now it won’t stay closed.”

“Y’alright?” It comes out more concerned than he thought possible.

She can’t help but smile at the way his voice changes, “I’m fine, I was in the grocery store when it happened. Asshole didn’t even leave their number.”

“S’it the driver’s door?" He does a mental inventory of the yard, pictures a small SUV in the corner over by the Dodge, "I got one here, I can swap it out tomorrow. Where you at, girl?” He clears his throat, a little surprised at everything that came out, “I’ll come get you, tow the car back here and give you a ride home.”

“I’m at Pat’s, the IGA.”

 

Beth watches him use a bungee cord to keep to the door closed. Her comment of,“Oh, that’s real smart, Daryl”, is met with a huff before he opens the cab of the tow truck and tells her to sit.

Once her car is on the bed he climbs in the driver’s seat.

“You think your insurance’ll cover it?”

“Yeah, deductible’s five hundred though.” She moves her feet, stretches her legs around her grocery bags.

She sees him shake his head, “Door ain’t worth more than forty. I’ll fix it for you, don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Ain’t a big deal.”

She tells him when to turn and points out the driveway of the small house she’s been renting from her sister, “Well, at least let me make you dinner.”

He follows her through the front door and into the small cape. The living room is clean, simple furniture and some pictures, he wonders if she took them. He can see into the kitchen too. 

“So this is the living room,” Beth motions for him to follow. “Kitchen.” She does her best Vanna White impression. “Two bedrooms and a bath upstairs. The other bathroom is in my studio, through there.” She points down a small hall, “It used to be the master bedroom.”

“That where you do the baby pictures?” He nods toward the hall.

“No.”

He blinks, “Oh.”

Beth looks at him, “Let me get the chicken in the oven and I’ll show you.”

She sets the timer and smiles at him, “Come on.”

 

Daryl can’t remember a time when he felt like this. There is a pit of nerves in stomach and his dick is half hard. All he can picture is a room with red walls and black leather furniture, so when Beth opens the door to a room painted a light grey it takes him a minute to adjust. There is dark furniture, but it’s a four poster bed and a hope chest made from a warm mahogany wood. There are two nightstands, heavy drapes on the windows and the only thing that stands out as slightly odd is a large wooden frame pushed against the wall.

“This is it.” Beth watches him survey the space.

“Ain’t what I thought it’d be.” He touches the comforter and then the bedpost, “It’s…”

“Normal?”

Daryl grins, “‘Cept for that,” He motions to the frame.

“That’s for suspension.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“It’s a form of bondage, the person is bound with ropes or a harness…”

“And then you lift ‘em up?” He staring at it, evaluating.

She nods and steps over to where he’s standing, one hand on the frame.

“You use some kinda winch or something? To get’em up there?”

Beth hums a yes and watches him more. 

“You don’t have any toys or nothing? Just ropes?”

“I have lots of toys. They are in the chest and the closet.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“You can open the chest if you want.”

Daryl looks at her and then down at the chest, “Is that something, do you let...people?”

Beth shakes her head, “No, but most people I’ve spent time with have had some experience. You can look if you want.”

He runs his hand along the lid and then shakes his head before turning to her, “What’s your favorite in there?”

Beth smiles, opens her mouth, and then the oven timer goes off.


	5. Chapter 5

His phone rings as they’re finishing up. Beth watches him look at the screen and then up at her.

“‘S my brother.”

She nods and he answers it.

“Merle?” Daryl brings his thumbnail to his mouth. “Nah, I ain’t home.” He stands and goes to the living room. When he comes back in he’s rubbing his hand over his face.

“He ain’t having a good day. He’s askin’ for company and there isn’t anyone…”

“He’s you brother, go spend some time with him.”

Daryl nods and heads to the door with Beth trailing behind.

“Food was real good, thanks.”

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Mmhmm.” He nods again, “I’ll bring your car by tomorrow.”

“Daryl?”

He looks at her, watches her run her tongue over her lips.

“You know that I want more than just...taking your picture, right?” Beth waits for him to catch her eye again, “I like you, Daryl.”

A slight blush begins to show at his collar and he turns his head away. “You don’t gotta say that.”

“Well, it’s true." She pauses again, watches him, "And if saying it is gonna make you turn red like that I’m gonna keep doing it.”

He looks up quick, and Beth stands on her toes in perfect timing to catch his lips with hers.

 

The hospital isn’t much of a drive from Beth’s house, but it’s long enough for Daryl to analyze the last few months. It’s enough time to go over the details in his head, replay conversations he’s had with her, dissect the feeling of her hand on his arm and the new feeling of her lips on his. It’s enough time for him to come to the understanding that for whatever reason, she actually does like him.

He can’t help running his tongue over his lips, remembering the way she tasted, as he walks through the hospital door.

Merle’s awake and uncharacteristically quiet. 

Daryl sits down, plants his feet firm and chews on his bottom lip for minute. “Merle?”

“Where you been hiding, baby brother?”

He ignores how tired Merle sounds, how small his brother is in that bed, and doesn’t try to hide the small smile from showing on his face, “Been seeing a girl.”

The night with Merle goes by slow. He’s been confused and restless, Daryl has a hard time leaving him and ends up staying well into Saturday. He texts Beth, let’s her know what’s going on and promises to have her car back before Monday morning. 

Sunday ticks by quickly, he goes to the yard gets things set for Zach, the kid who helps him out, before taking care of Beth’s car. He’s dead tired, but happily heads over to her place. 

She’s sitting on the steps when he pulls into the driveway and invites him to come in for a bit before she brings him home. He follows her to the living room.

“Thanks again for taking care of this for me.”

“Ain’t a big deal.”

“It is to me. How’s your brother?”

Out of nowhere, a wave of pure exhaustion hits him. The next breath comes out hard and he can feel his shoulders slump. His teeth click together when he misjudges biting on his lower lip as he drops his chin to his chest. 

The words come out just above a whisper, “He’s dyin’.”

Next thing he knows, Beth is next to him and he’s breathing in the scent of her hair as her arms wrap firmly around his chest.

“Oh, Daryl.”

He can feel himself unraveling in her arms, any composure he might have been clinging to is dissipating at her touch. Swallowing in air isn’t working and his vision is blurred at the edges. He grabs onto her. 

 

When he looks back on it, Daryl remembers every detail of their first night together, half-clothed and desperate as teenagers, right there on her couch. He remembers the way he clung to her. He remembers the way he whispered that he was terrified of being alone, the way she assured him he wasn’t.

The way she slid her tongue into his mouth and pressed his shoulders to the back of the couch as she straddled him. 

The way she undid his zipper with one hand twisted firmly in his hair.

Her fingers deftly navigating the buttons on his shirt while his fumbled with her top. The way her hands lifted his tank and drifted over his scarred chest before coming to rest on the back of his neck. Her voice, low and sure, instructing him to take care of her bra.

Her pussy, wet and warm and perfect as she lowered herself onto him. 

The way his hands cupped her ass, just enough to be sure she was balanced as she rode him.

Her eyes, half lidded in pleasure, at the way he couldn’t help but buck up into her.

The way her hand pressed into his hip bone, slowing his frantic movements when he got close, steadying him, subtly reminding him who she was. 

His low moan as he held back, refocusing on her. 

The way it repeated in growing desperation and then shortly turned to a whine, a plea. 

The way she held his eyes with hers and nodded.

How he felt tears well up again as he came with his face buried in her small breasts.

Her weight settled on his lap while he let his breath even out, still inside her.

The gentle way Beth kissed the dried tear tracks on his face, held his head in her hands and promised him she would never leave him alone like that. 

The way she meant it, and how he believed every word.


	6. Chapter 6

They still go to the bar on Fridays. They still eat greasy bar food and make fun of the news anchors. They still talk and laugh, but now, now she touches his hand. Now she leans into him, now she stands up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek or catch his lips with hers. Now he goes to her house after they eat. He shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the week. He lays beside her, on top of her, under her. She runs her hands along his body, rakes her fingers through his hair, traces lines of muscles and lines of scars over and over until none of it stands out.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” They’re laying upstairs in her bed.

“Sure.” Beth rolls onto her side to look at him. 

“How do you, whatta you do first? With someone new?”

“What do you mean?”

“If somebody wanted,” Daryl pauses, chews on his lip before reworking his thoughts, “If I wanna go in the studio, if I wanna try that.”

Beth smiles and rests her hand on his bare chest, “Well, we’d set up a time to go through a checklist, decide on safe words, limits. That kind of thing. There’s a lot of talking, understanding what each other wants and needs.”

“I ain’t good at talkin’ about myself.”

She smiles again, “I know. It would be a little different anyway, since we’re already…”

Daryl glances at her, “Doing whatever this is.”

“I told you, I care about you Daryl. This isn’t just ‘whatever’ to me.”

He shifts around, takes in a quick breath, “Me neither.”

“What is it to you?”

An image of the junkyard comes to his mind, his brother’s yellowing eyes and sunken cheeks, the lonely bed in his trailer, “This is the only good thing I got.” He blinks hard, pushes away thoughts of his mother, father, following Merle around, “This is the best thing I ever had, girl.”

 

Two days later they’re sitting at her kitchen table. The list is more involved than he would’ve ever thought. Experience and limits scaled zero to five. He reads each item, there are more than a hundred, and glances up at her scribbling away.

Daryl reads the list again and looks up at her again, she’s filling in the comment section of one line, her words spilling out of the margins, his pants are getting tight. He chews on his lip, reads the first three again, ‘Blindfolds, Bondage (heavy), Bondage (light)’, adjusts the zipper of his pants and finally touches his pen to the paper.

Every time she clicks her pen or he glances up to catch a grin on her face, Daryl’s cock twitches. He can hear the pen drag across the paper and he struggles to decipher where she is on the list and what numbers she writing. His body is aching in anticipation when he hands her his list. 

 

“You don’t have anything marked zero,” She looks back down at the paper. “And nothing under a two.” She looks back down at his paper, “This whole list is practically all twos, ‘May try for partner’, that’s it? Just whatever I wanna do?”

He shrugs, feels the heat climbing his neck.

“Aren’t there things here that aren’t, that don’t turn you on? That you aren’t sure you wanna do?”

He shrugs again and chews on his lip. He’s looking everywhere except at her, moving his legs to hide his arousal. “I can handle a lot of shit.”

Beth sighs, “It’s not about how much you can deal with or how much pain you can take.”

He shifts in his seat and avoids her eyes. 

“That’s not the point, not with me.”

Daryl quickly blinks up at her and looks down at the table.

She sighs a little, reaches over and takes one of his hands from where they are twisted together, “You have to look at me Daryl.” There is a beat of silence while she waits for him. “It’s about control.”

Beth can see him tense up, can feel it down into his fingers. She rubs small circles on his knuckles. “I don’t want you grittin’ your teeth together, just waiting for things to end. You’re in control here, nothing happens that you don’t want.” 

His eyes stay on hers.

“I'll push you, but it's not up to me how far." Her voice goes soft, "I have to trust that you are being honest and you have to trust me. That’s the whole point, Daryl. You have control and then give it to me.” She blinks at him, “Is that something you want to do?”

“Mmhmm.” 

"Daryl."

"I want it."

Her blue eyes light up, smile reaching up into them, "Good, good me too. Now, the fun stuff. What on here gets you going?”

His lip is practically bleeding, “I dunno what...I don’t know what I like.”

She gets up and moves around the table to sit on his lap before reaching back for her copy of the list, full of looped blue ink. She straightens the papers in front of them both, “We can figure it out.” Beth rocks her hips and grins at his stifled groan, “I think teasing is more than a two.”


	7. Chapter 7

That night, Daryl realizes that the studio is a little warmer than the rest of the house. Beth keeps a space heater on in the corner, tells him he’ll come to appreciate it. He’s breathing through his nose, trying in vain to slow his racing heart, he follows her example and takes off his shoes leaving them by the door.

“I’m going to start easy. Nothing too intricate.” Her voice is even and calm.

He watches her put a pair of safety shears on the night stand and nods.

“You have to answer me, with words. If I don’t put anything in your mouth, you use words, understood?”

Daryl’s dick jumps at the tone of her voice and he can feel his cheeks blush, “Understood.”

“Good. Take off your shirt.”

He does as she says and lays his shirt on the bed.

"You're not allergic to hemp, are you?"

"What like pot? Nah." He smirks as he looks away.

She smiles at him, "The rope I like to use is made from hemp, it's a little softer but still strong. We are gonna start out with this." She holds up a coil of dark gray rope, "It's a six millimeter, pretty versatile. We’ll start off with a chest harness and see where it goes, okay?" 

Daryl nods, eyes moving between her and his bare feet, blood roaring in his ears, "You don't gotta spell it all out. I wanna do this."

She sharpens her gaze at him and takes a step closer to rub his arm. “I know you’re nervous, but you don’t get to talk to me like that in here.”

“Sorry.” It comes out under his breath, the flare of embarrassment throughout his body at her gentle chastising is louder than his mumbled apology.

“It’s alright,” Beth rubs a circle on his hand with her thumb, “remember the safe words?”

“Mmhmm, yellow and red.”

“Okay,” She takes his hair in her hand and pulls him close to lay a kiss over each cheekbone, “Kneel down.”

He bites his lip for a moment before sinking to his knees before her. His breath comes out slow and even, if a little bit shaky.

Beth lifts the rope in one hand and moves the other to be anchored on his shoulder as she steps behind him. The first pass around his torso and over his pecs is done, looped through in the middle of his back and cinched tight, then brought back around. Beth is deliberate with the cord, flattening out the rope on top of his muscles in a thick band. After three passes she pauses.

“How does that feel? Breathe normally, anything too tight?” One hand is on the rope, keeping the band firm and even on his chest and the other is back on his shoulder.

The band is wide and pressing evenly into his muscles, it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. “It’s alright.” 

Beth waits for him to let his eyes meet hers. “You’re doing great.” She kisses his collar bone before dragging the length of rope over it and under the band, the end of the shoulder strap is right on his nipple. “Hemp is my favorite for a lot of reasons, but you can really feel the vibrations when you knot it.”

Her hand is in his line of vision, painted fingertips stopping the ends of the rope from snapping into his face, but he feels the drag of the fibers against themselves. The minuscule movements radiate over his right nipple and he can’t grasp what’s happening quickly enough to stifle a moan. He cuts it off with a sharp breath in.

She hums, a brief acknowledgement of his reaction, before moving on to his left.

Daryl knows what to expect, but on this side, the rope for the new buckle loop passes under the band, making direct contact with his already perked nipple, eliciting another groan, before she winds it back through and up over his shoulder to knot at the anchor point centered on his back.

Beth presses against his back, he can feel her breasts beneath her thin tank top. Her hand finds his elbow, nudging him to stand. She keeps both hands on him, firm on his arm and side. “I have some extra left, can I tie your hands?”

A nod. He’s reeling, wasn’t expecting to be this hard from a few passes of rope over his chest. He can see the dark color standing out against his skin and the contrast makes him throb against the fabric of his jeans.

“Daryl.”

He clenches his fists where they rest at his sides, “Yeah, tie ‘em.”

Beth guides his hands to cross, sitting one on top of the other, at the small of his back and smoothly binds them together. 

He shivers each time the rope crosses over itself, energy traveling along the fibers and across his body. When she finishes, Beth keeps a grip on the knot at his shoulders. Her other arm is wrapped around his stomach. “How do you feel?”

Daryl rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath, testing her knots and the give of the harness she has criss-crossed around him. He looks down at the rope, taut over the small smattering of scars on his chest, and her arm steadying him, warm across his stomach. Disjointed answers are coming to him, euphoric and completely grounded at the same time, a bizarre mixture of terrified and elated, with no idea how to tell her. She lets him move, just a little, before tightening her grip and angling him toward her.

The tug on the harness shifts the ropes against his skin again and he bites the inside of his lip to keep focus. 

“I asked how you feel.”

“I…” Daryl squeezes his eyes shut, tries not think and just answers her, “It’s good. Feels good.” 

She hums again and puts her palm flat on his stomach. “Take a deep breath, Daryl. Use your belly to move my hand and let it out slow.” Beth is quiet while he follows her instruction, “Do you want to keep going?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He nods a little and glances up at her, “Please?”

She moves quickly, unfastening his jeans and letting them pool at his ankles before hooking her thumbs near the back of his boxers. 

“Beth…” Her name is a breathy moan on his lips as her fingers knead into the muscles of his ass, one smooth motion and his boxers join his pants on the floor. He can’t stop his hips from jerking up, searching for friction, but her hands move back to the harness. One in front and one in back, guiding him to sit on the bed.

She takes a small step back and looks him over, “You look gorgeous like this, Daryl.” Her hand moves to the camera on the nightstand. “Do you mind if I...just one?”

“Alright.” It’s barely above a whisper.

Her lips are hot on his neck as she nudges his legs open, forcing him to rest on the edge of the bed and the balls of his feet to balance. She traces her hand up his thigh and pulls a little on his balls before stepping back. “Head down, just a little and look up at me.” 

The camera clicks once and then she’s back against him, arranging pillows and then guiding him back. She keeps her hands on him, on the inside of his thighs, forcing him to leave room for her between his legs.

“Beth…” He’s aching to touch her, to have more than her fingers tracing along his skin.

“You’re doing so good, Daryl. What do you want?”

He lets a sigh escape his lips, “Touch my dick, please. Please touch me...more.”

“You ask so nice, so polite. Much better than before.” Her hands get closer, thumbs pressing against the spot where his cock is jutting out, so close to satisfying that he can’t do more than tip his head back and groan. “Ask again, Daryl.”

It’s the hardest thing, to beg her, to ask her for what he wants. His want outweighs his embarrassment and his voice is rough, just above a whisper, “Please, please Beth…” 

Her mouth is the best thing he’s ever felt, warm and wet around him.

She runs her tongue along the underside of his cock and sucks on the head for barely a minute before he’s coming. 

Beth swallows and moves next to him, strokes her hand slow up and down his side, watches his abs twitch. When he starts to shift, changing the pressure on his arms, she helps him sit up. She slowly frees his his hands, gently rubs his wrists where the smooth gray rope sat. Asks “Anything hurt? Numb?” to which he shakes his head. His eyes are half open and following her movements. 

Beth moves to stand between his knees, “Remember the vibrations? You’re going to feel them again.” She pulls the ropes through the knot as he lets out a breath. His body is on edge, overstimulated and sensitive. The movement over his chest pulls a low moan from him followed by a choppy breath. Beth kisses the top of his head as he lets it rest on her chest. When she gets to his right side and pulls the rope back over his nipple in one smooth, long motion, he practically sobs. 

“Shh, you did so good, Daryl. You did so good.” His arms feel so heavy, but she guides them around her body. It’s a gentle way to keep contact while she unravels the band from his chest.

The rope hits the wood floor with a dull thud and she moves closer to press her body against his.

They are quiet for a while. Daryl rubs his face against her, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out another shuddering breath and the last of the aftershocks.

“Was that alright? Was it too much?” She bends her head, voice soft and close to his ear.

His response is muffled in the thin fabric of her shirt, “Was perfect.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Daryl.” She says his name quick and serious, “You have to breathe. Don’t hold your breath.”

“Mmm.” He inhales sharp and fast. 

Beth shakes her head and moves her hands, one to his chest and one between his shoulder blades. “Steady and even. Deep and slow.” She exaggerates a breath in example. “You breathe through it. Let it go through you, don’t hold onto it.” She takes another breath, “In and out, share it. I’m here too, remember? This isn’t just you, you’re not alone.”

His thighs are stretched open, like she asked of him. Legs secured to the chair at his ankles. 

A half hour earlier, he sat in the chair while Beth pulled his hair into a knot at the back of his head and carefully framed his face with a thinner rope. Rope looped under his chin and into knot at the bridge of his nose, cords running to the back of his head and another, impeccably neat, knot below his tied up hair before running them back to twist down along the corners of his mouth and end secured back at the base of his skull. She had taken a step, grinning when she finished, before pulling out the camera. He had been able to breathe then. Deep calming breaths forced out of flared nostrils with every click as she circled him, told him to close his eyes, open them, angle his head, a bit more to the right.

Now, his arms are rigged up behind him, anchored to the beam above his head, forced straight at the wrists and elbows. It’s the first time they’ve used the frame.

Daryl’s dark jeans contrast against the skin of his bare chest and the harness she has fashioned around his torso. Grey rope criss-crossed over his chest, looped carefully between his legs, each knot putting calculated pressure on his nipples, his ass, and agonizingly close to his dick.

“This is a stress position, it’s hard to hold. You have to breathe.”

Another hum.

"Daryl." Her tone is a warning.

“I’m breathin’.”

Beth grabs the camera, paces around him taking shots.

“What color, Daryl?”

“Green.”

She’s in front of him again, another rope added. Tied to his left ankle.

One short, dark nail hooks the rope beneath his chin, “You are doing so good. Just a little longer, okay?” She kisses the side of his mouth, knowingly drawing his attention back to the rope there.

Beth lets him nod, just once, before using that finger to guide the new rope through the space she’s made at his chin. Achingly slow, even pressure begins to guide Daryl’s head toward his knees.

He groans as the pressure increases, closes his eyes until he feels her secure the rope to his right ankle.

“Daryl?” Her hand is resting on the top of his bare foot.

“Green.” He rasps, stretching out the word.

She watches him, chest rising and falling. The timing is even, perfectly controlled. Muscles pulled taught, accentuated by the dark rope, he is beautiful. A work of art, she picks up the camera.

Another deep groan, Beth can see him straining. He pulls his lip between his teeth.

A few more photos and the pace of his breath is picking up. She loosens the rope holding his arms, lowers them a few inches before moving to the rope holding his head. He rolls his head and then his shoulders as she guides his arms slowly to his sides.

Beth is standing in front of him, watching as he gathers the pieces that she has so expertly spread about. A small sigh is all it takes for her to step forward and take his head in her hands, run her thumbs along the cord against his jaw. Those fingers trace to the back of his head, resting against the knot there.

"Leave it." His voice is gruff, on edge, "Please."

She nods, uses the rope to guide him to his knees and lets her jeans and nearly soaked panties fall to the floor. The chair is warm from where he sat and her feet fall perfectly on his shoulders. 

He doesn't waste time, laps at her before pushing his tongue as far into her as he can. 

A tug on the harness forces his head back, and then she's arching into him. Daryl sucks her clit into his mouth and hums, the rope is rubbing into the edges of his mouth and into her skin. She tugs again.

"Get on the bed."

 

~*~

 

“You don’t gotta...fuss over me so much.” She’s brought him water and a granola bar. “I mean, after. I’m alright.”

Beth gives him a half smile, “You are,” She climbs back into the bed and sits cross legged beside him, “This is important, though, aftercare. It’s important to me.” 

He glances over at her as he shrugs his shirt on, asking for more without a word. 

“It’s important to relax… um I guess, recover, after. A lot of times it can feel really intense and being together is important. You could get really down, or guilty and so could I”. She tilts her head and looks at him. “It happens from the change of chemicals in your brain. It’s like you go from feeling on cloud nine to living alone in a dumpster.”

“Mmm.” He caves under her pointed stare and drinks some of the water.

“Didja see Harry Potter?”

He cocks an eyebrow at her, but nods.

“Remember the Dementors?”

“Them Grim Reaper things?”

“Yeah, they suck the happiness out. That’s what it’s like, when you drop.”

"It happened? Before, to you?"

"Yeah, it has."

Daryl clears his throat and looks away, "With me?"

She shakes her head, "No, not you. My ex."

"It's the guy from the pictures? On your website, your ex?" 

"No, that was mostly..."

He shakes his head, "I don't wanna know."

"My good friend, Aaron. Him and his husband, Eric taught me how to work with the ropes."

"Oh." A warm blush climbs his neck, he remembers the flare of jealousy from the first time he saw the photos.

"Jimmy...he never..." She sighs, "He never understood me. Not the way I needed him to."

Daryl just nods.

She watches at him, his flannel is unbuttoned and he plays with a stray thread. "Not the way you do." 

He looks up at her, barely makes eye contact. When he speaks his voice is barely a whisper. “I get that.”


End file.
